


Light Starts to Tremble

by lossie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I'm making myself cry from feels overload with this story, I'm pretty much figuring out the plot as I go, Romance, This may or may not get smutty at some point, You Have Been Warned, but i still like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lossie/pseuds/lossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of Thranduil and Tauriel, as they find their way to each other. Post BOTFA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A little something inspired by One Republic’s “If I Lose Myself ” and this adorable couple that I can’t get enough of. I think it will be fun ride, as long as you like your romance with a heavy dose of angst. Although I had planned it to be a one-shot, I decided to put it into parts, so there will be at least one more (if not two, as I might be inclined to write some smut and add more drama, because I can).  
> If you would like to read something more Tolkien-ish, I suggest my other story, “Into the Woods”. Although it’s not Thranduil/Tauriel, but eventual Thranduil/OC, I think it’s still worth checking out.  
> For now, please enjoy this piece of my overflowing imagination. If you will like it, please leave kudos and comment on your thoughts thus far. I really appreciate your input! :)  
> Enjoy!

One year in the life of a mortal is nothing more than a blink of an eye for an elf, nothing more than a single exhale of breath.

It is one of the fundamental truths of the universe and Tauriel has known it long before her encounter with Kili, which admittedly doesn't make his death any less painful. Maybe it is more because their time has been cut short in the most brutal way possible or maybe she just never gave much thought to the fact that he would have died long before her anyhow, but it makes her suffer all the same.

On most days the pain and grief are just below the surface, ready to ensnare her at any given moment, but they are dormant which in turn makes them more bearable. She can live with the hum of longing and the feeling of loss without missing a step, she really can. It is in those rare moments though, as few and far between as they are, when her mind betrays her with vivid images of Kili's last moments in the land of living playing in front of her eyes over and over again that she truly remembers why she has never wanted to fall in love.

Before she met him, there was no one else who has been able to capture her attention. Although she knew Legolas had feelings for her that reached beyond friendship, they had never addressed them nor did they feel the need to do so.

Now things are much different. They can no longer pretend that there is nothing more to his behaviour towards her and so she doesn't blame him for leaving. Letting go of a loved one who has already passed away is difficult enough, so she can't picture how hard it is to do so when the object of your affections is alive, but still completely out of your reach.

She lets Legolas go with no goodbye, because she is too heartbroken and too preoccupied with her grief to care. Later she regrets her silence and cries herself to sleep over the fact that she has just lost her dearest friend. She doesn't even know if she will ever see him again.

In the end, she grieves not only for Kili, but for Legolas as well.

-o-o-o-

For some reason she does not want to understand, King Thranduil allows her to come back to Mirkwood and gives her back her title.

She is once again Captain of the Guard, but the second time she receives the honours is so bittersweet she can't keep a smile on her face during the ceremony, much less make it reach her eyes. The guards are overjoyed, having missed her rule more than she imagined possible, and it's nice to feel welcomed when the guilt for leaving at such a dire time still eats away at her consciousness.

Work makes her forget.

Killing spiders makes her forget.

Fighting orcs makes her forget.

Being home doesn't make her forget, but it helps her heal.

She never thanks the king for what she knows is an uncharacteristic sign of kindness on his part and a gesture she would have never expect out of him, but she withholds them. He had done it for Legolas, not for her. That's what she believes, at least. It wouldn't be right to thank for something that was not meant to please her.

All the same, the words she has spoken to him in Dale are still fresh in her mind and she regrets saying them, because she knows, just like she knew back then, that they are far from truth. He loves his kingdom and Mirkwood is not an easy place to love. Although the forest is slowly dying, consumed by darkness and disease, he tries to protect his people and she knows he would die for them, if his sacrifice would guarantee their safety.

Even if she doesn't agree with his methods or his politics, she still thinks that at least he is fighting where most would have given up a long time ago.

She can admire his dedication while still detesting his way of achieving things.

As she works and lives on, and starts to return to herself step by step, she realizes that they are maybe a bit more similar than she would have liked.

Loss destroys those who suffer because of it and Tauriel knows it, just like her king knows it. Sometimes she recalls the sincerity in his voice when he admitted that her love for Kili was true. She remembers the pained look in his eyes and the clear reflection of her grief in his face.

Far from impassive and distant, he has showed her a part of himself that day on the Ravenhill.

In her heart of hearts, she knows it's also part of the reason why he let her come back – not just for Legolas, but because he understand loss like no one else – and that's why she cannot hate him anymore.

-o-o-o-

The first time she realizes that her love for Kili may not have been love is during a patrol.

Too much time to think leaves her wondering about what-ifs. Still alert and ready to fight, she imagines all the different possibilities of what their life could have been like and comes to a rather startling conclusion that she will never know if any of them would have come true, because she didn't know Kili well enough. Those are just the things she would have wanted, but they lack his input.

She grieves not for him really, she realizes with a new wave of sorrow, but for the lost chance at happiness and the idea of love that has slipped through her fingers

Maybe, she thinks bitterly to herself, she wasn't in love with him at all.

-o-o-o-

Moving on becomes easier as the months go by.

With each passing day she pushes away her regrets further and further away, and welcomes back a bit of hope for the future. She is still young and, as Lady Narie, the head healer, likes to say, it is too early to mourn for what is yet to come.

She thinks that it's not a bad philosophy at all.

-o-o-o-

It is roughly three years after the battle – three years after Kili's death and three years after her life has changed – when Tauriel looks death in the eye yet again.

The weather is beautiful as it hasn't been in years. Early spring colours the forest near the King's Halls in bright shades of green. The air smells like flowers, fresh grass, and sunlight, and it's no wonder that so many elves are enjoying the merits of the season outside. The king is amongst them, taking a stroll with his advisors and a small group of guards. Tauriel is a few steps behind him with her hand on the hilt of one of her daggers just in case, but she is otherwise at ease. Or as at ease as one can been when guarding their king.

She listens to the court ladies as they giggle while collecting flowers to make wreaths and observes the young elflings as their run about, causing havoc. A smile stretches across her face at all the happiness that surrounds her, because it is such a rarity in those dark times.

Her eyes wander to Thranduil.

He is wearing his spring crown, adorned with snowdrops and fresh green leaves. His robes are made of fine silk and light blue in colour, like the sky above, and enwrought with silver and golden threads. The pattern reminds her of clouds swirling in the wind or maybe even the wind itself. His hair is unbound with no braids or additional ornaments. It falls over his broad shoulders and reaches his waist, seemingly snow-white in the dazzling light of the afternoon sun.

As she looks at him, she admits to herself for the first time that he is indeed impossibly beautiful in the most captivating way.

A shadow moves in the trees to her left. Her blood runs cold when she recognizes it for what it is – a she-spider ready to attack.

How the wretched creature managed to get so close to the fortress without detection is beyond Tauriel's understanding and it scares her to see it there, because it makes her realize that this picture of serenity and idleness she had been observing for the better part of the day is just a mere picture. It doesn't reflect the reality of their life in those cursed woods.

She knows that she has only her own hands and a dagger to fight with, and that there is no time to think of a plan or to ask for a different weapon. The _ungol_ is quiet, but fast, and in the end Tauriel is forced to act before she can even think about what she is doing.

She pushes Thranduil out of the way just in time to bury one of her daggers into the spider to the hilt. A pained cry escapes her lips as the creature sinks its teeth where her neck meets her shoulder, acutely aware that she is going to die from that injury, but not really bothered by the fact. She twists the blade and pushes the spider away. It falls on its back, screeching loudly, and then finally dies at her feet. She stumbles a few steps before someone wraps their arms around her, catching her before she has a chance to hit the ground.

In her last moments she thinks about Kili and Legolas, and Thranduil, and her parents.

She is glad that her friend will not need to come back to bury his father and that the people in her homeland will not be saying goodbye to their beloved king. There is a bit of disappointment, when she realizes that Lady Narie was wrong in assuming that she will live long enough to find love again and it makes her sad, because she would have really liked to be a mother and a wife, but she will never have a chance to be either now. She awaits for tears or anger, but she neither comes. Instead, her heart fills with hope of seeing her parents after so many years.

Her sacrifice isn't the most intelligent thing she has ever done, but decisions fuelled by emotions seldom are. Then again her life is worth less than that of the king, no matter how utterly unfair it seems, and she would do anything to protect him, just like he had been protecting her.

She should have apologized to him, she thinks, when she had a chance, because he has been right about her in more ways than one and she has been so very wrong about him.

Sadly, it is too late for it now.

There are screams and voices, and hushes whispers all around her, and she is already slipping away. She can barely see the sky, but she feels the warmth of the elf who is holding her. The fact that she is not alone in her last moments makes her smile.

"Don't die," she hears someone say before the darkness takes her. "Please, don't die."


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was toying with the idea of publishing this later (maybe tomorrow or sth), but in the end I decided to go with it and do it today, since I’m pretty sure part 3 (yes, there will be one and then probably part 4, if I decide to go down the path I'm going, which will probably require an epilogue/sequel as well, so yeah, a lot of things to come) will not be ready until at least Wednesday. My exam session is fast approaching and I should be studying instead of writing, but my head is just overflowing with ideas and I can’t study with all those plot bunnies jumping around. Besides, I study English, so it kind of counts as practise, right?  
> That being said, I want to thank you for all your lovely comments! I wasn’t honestly expecting such a warm response to this little thing, but I’m truly beyond myself with happiness :) After all, no matter what authors claim, they actually do write for the audience.  
> I hope you won’t hate me after reading this…  
> Also, I believe that I might have made the characters a bit OCC? Idk. To me it feels like I have explained the reasons behind their actions well enough, but there will always be those who will agree to disagree. So, just saying.  
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy it as much as Part 1, if not more (it is almost twice as long, so it naturally deserves more love, right?)! And don’t forget to leave a review! Your kind words give me some good old motivation to move my sorry arse and actually write, and – dare I say – finish something for once ;)

She drifts in and out of consciousness for what feels like years. In her dream-like state she sees the shadows as the move around against the warm light which seems to flicker every now and then, not unlike a flame of a candle or that of a hearth. There are also voices, which she recalls vaguely, but cannot place, and they speak to her, and to each other, about things she can hardly hear through the soft hum coming from somewhere within her own mind. Dizziness makes it impossible to determine if the speakers are male or female, but at the same time she is sure she knows them and so she lets the sleep take her without any second thought concerning her safety, only mildly concerned about the pain she feels.  
  
“Am I injured?” She asks herself on more than one occasion as her eyes flutter open to the sight of those familiar figures with their soothing voices, but she doesn’t remember.  
  
The only thing she knows is that she is still alive.

-o-o-o-

Sometimes when she lingers in the state between sleep and awareness she hears a word that she can recognize.  
  
Tauriel.  
  
It’s her name.  
  
Someone is calling her name.  
  
“Tauriel…,” someone says and she wonders if it’s the sign that she is on her way to the Halls of Mandos.  
  
Is it her mother or her father? Or is it the Valar himself, beckoning her to join him?  
  
After all , there is no one left to call for her in the land of the living.

 

-o-o-o-

When she finally truly awakes, she comes to with a loud gasp.  
  
Her hand moves to her neck and squeezes over the layers of bandages and healing herbs as she tries to calm her erratic breathing. It hurts so much it makes her sick, but she refuses to let it consume her.  
  
Someone places a hand on her back and starts moving it up and down in a soothing motion that helps her along through the blinding pain. The same person mutters something in Sindarin, although she is too preoccupied to really pay attention to the words, but the lilt of them is like a balm to her arching soul. She regrets sitting up so abruptly, but there is little she can do about it now other then endure and pray for the unpleasant sensation to ease down at least a bit.  
  
Finally, after a few long minutes of fighting for breath, she is able to let go of her neck and open her eyes.  
  
“Send for Narie,” the person next to her, her helpful guardian, says quietly. She remembers who he is almost instantly.  
  
“M-my lord,” she whispers as she turns in his direction, stumbling over her words. Her voice is strained and rough, and barely audible from lack of use, but he hears her anyway.  
  
She catches a glimpse of Galion over Thranduil’s shoulder before the butler disappears from view, already on his way to the infirmary to fetch the head healer. Her eyes move back to the king, looking straight into his eyes, which are as intense as ever. There is something new lurking in them though, which she recognizes for what it is in no time.  
  
Worry.  
  
The king is worried.  
  
And he is worried about her.  
  
“How are you feeling?” He asks, his hand still on her back. He hasn’t stopped his ministrations yet, but for some reason she doesn’t really care.  
  
“It hurts,” she manages to say.  
  
“I suspected that much, “ is his response and she smiles a little at the sarcasm in his tone. “You should lay down, Tauriel.”  
  
She only nods. He helps her, guiding her back down onto the soft pillows. Her eyes stray from his face to assess her surroundings.  
  
It becomes obvious rather quickly that she is not in her quarters. The chamber is unfamiliar to her with its spaciousness, rich décor, enormous fireplace, and this bed she lays on, which is so big it could accommodate three more people and still have some room left for them to move. The mattress is incredibly soft – as if it has been made out of clouds – and a soft sigh escapes her lips when she is able to sink into it. The warmth of the linens and the heat coming from the hearth make her sleepy, but she fights against the heaviness of her eyelids, determined to be awake when Narie arrives.  
  
As if sensing her struggle, the king lays a hand on her shoulder, saying “You can go back to sleep, if you want” with such gentleness, she actually listens to him and falls asleep within seconds.

-o-o-o-

It is Lady Narie who greets her upon her second chance to make acquaintance with lucidity in the last few hours.  
  
“Finally!” She says as she helps Tauriel sit and scoop over to the edge of the bed, so she can examine the wound. “We were afraid that you will stay asleep forever. I hardly think it’s healthy. Of course you needed your time. This injury should have been fatal, to be honest… But to sleep for weeks seems excessive, doesn’t it? And the king! What on Arda possessed him to wait at your bedside I know not. He refused to sleep, he refused to eat, he refused to leave… Worse than a mule, I swear!"  
  
Her cheeks turn red at the mention of the king as she remembers the way he has treated her when she woke up previously.  
  
The idea of him sitting by her bed and guarding her makes her feel slightly uneasy, but not for the reason it would have a few years ago. It is oddly pleasant to know that he cares for her, because she cares for him too, as strange and unprofessional as it is. There is something more than duty lurking behind his actions, just like there is more to hers. Although he is her king, older than her by centuries, and a father of her friend, she admits to herself that there is a silver of attraction for him growing steadily and his willingness to be close to her makes it even stronger. The idea that he may return her feelings to some extend excites her and that’s precisely why she feels so apprehensive.  
  
What scares her – actually _scares_ her – is the speed at which it’s happening.  
  
Is it too fast?  
  
Is it too sudden?  
  
She can’t really tell.  
  
“Where am I?” She asks to break Narie’s monologue. Listening to her rants about how nobody is ever willing to take care of themselves properly makes her head hurt.  
  
“In the king’s chambers, of course,” Narie replies as she waves over two maid to help Tauriel to her feet, so she can finally have a bath and change into a fresh nightgown. “He was adamant. Said it was the least he could do for what you have done.”  
  
She almost trips on her own feet when she hears the news and it’s only because of the maids’ steady hold on her arms that she doesn’t fall.  
  
“Is it the king’s… But how…” Words leave her completely at this point.  
  
“Yes, you have been sleeping in the king’s bed, my dear.” Narie apparently finds her rather unnecessary embarrassment very amusing. “Nobody dared to say a word against it, of course, since you deserve all the care and gratitude in the Woodland Realm you can possibly get. You are a hero to our people, after all.”  
  
“A hero?” She repeats, not quite sure if she understands the meaning of the healer’s words correctly.  
  
“Oh yes!” One of the maids chimes in with a cheerful smile. “You have saved the king!”  
  
“And it was so brave of you too!” Adds the other one.  
  
Tauriel’s blush deepens as she struggles to find anything appropriate to say, but comes back empty-handed.  
  
In the end she decides to simply listen to the chatter of the maids as they assist her during her bath and then dress her up in a clean gown of soft white cotton. They brush and braid her hair while Narie redresses the wound, which is still arching and painful to the touch, but at least it doesn’t bleed anymore and it’s free of spider venom. After helping her back to bed, they both go away to the kitchens to fetch her something light to eat. Narie lingers in the chamber for a while after they leave, picking up her mortar with the rest of mashed herbs, the dirty bandages, and some linens she had used to cleanse Tauriel’s injury, but she soon excuses herself as well.  
  
Left alone in the vast bedchamber with nothing to do, Tauriel simply sits in the bed and once again examines the room.  
  
Her thoughts wander to the time she has lost in her long sleep.  
  
Two weeks and a half. Seventeen days. More than a few hundred hours.  
  
It seems such a waste, really. However, there is a part of her that knows this time has been lost for a good cause and it makes her feel better. The responsibility of being the captain still rests heavily upon her shoulders though and she promises herself to ask someone to fetch her second-in-command so she can ease her mind a little in regard to her horribly neglected duties.  
  
A set of footsteps reaches her ears. Soon enough she is able to see someone moving about in the next chamber through the small gap between the half-open door and the doorframe. It’s hard to tell who is it, since there seems to be an awful lot of activity going on in the king’s chambers recently, all of which is probably related to her person.  
  
“Hello?” She calls out, a bit unsure if she really wants to confront this person. Then again, any company is preferable to this tedious silence she has found herself in for the last couple of minutes. Yearning for the presence of others in an unfamiliar setting is only natural, after all.  
  
The person stills. For the longest time there’s absolutely no sound coming from the other room and she briefly regrets opening her mouth. Then the door opens to reveal the king, who lingers at the threshold for a moment, his eyes trained on her.  
  
He is dressed only in a simple white tunic and dark trousers with a robe of dark green silk thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as if in an afterthought. His feet are bare of shoes and his hair is flowing freely over his right shoulder, resembling what she thinks liquefied light would look like. There is no crown or circlet on his head now, just like there was none before. He seems a little surprised to see her, as if he has already managed to forget she was in his quarters to begin with. For some reason, the notion makes her smile.  
  
“I would say ‘good morning’, but I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time and do not know the hour, my lord,” she says quietly, bowing her head in respect.  
  
Thranduil makes a rather peculiar sound – something between a snort and a chuckle – and shakes his head lightly, making a few strands of his pale golden hair sway with the motion.  
  
“It is morning,” he informs her with a slight upturn of his lips. “A rather early one, but morning nonetheless.”  
  
“Oh,” she utters, quite surprised that she was right in a way. “Then good morning, my lord.”  
  
“Good morning,” he responds. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
“Yes. Thank you, my lord. And you?”  
  
“I have had a good night as well.”  
  
Silence follows his words and it’s so awkward, she would have very much liked to have a chance to excuse herself. Alas, there is no way she can do it, so she simply lowers her gaze to her fingers, which are entwined so tightly, they are almost white.  
  
Thankfully, the maids disrupt the rather heavy atmosphere as they return with her meal. Galion follows after them, helping another ellon carry a table into the room. They put it next to the bed. Then they take the only chair she can see – or rather an armchair with elegant carvings and lush padding – and put it next to the table. The maids place the meal upon it in haste, apparently rendered speechless in the presence of their king, and they leave as soon as they are done. Galion doesn’t stay for long either. He simply reminds the king of the council meeting that is going to take place in an hour and leaves them alone.  
  
She tries to move to the edge of the bed on her own, but it’s nearly impossible to do when she can only use one arm, especially considering her utter lack of strength. It startles her when Thranduil comes forward to assist her, his gentle warm hands keeping her steady as he guides her to the edge of the mattress. Once she is there, he lets her go and takes a seat in the armchair.  
  
It takes her a moment to realize that they are actually sharing a meal in his privet quarters, but she somehow manages to overcome the sudden nervousness and even eats a bit of what has been served.  
  
She feels his eyes on her almost the entire time.  
  
She doesn’t look up to make sure.

-o-o-o-

  
The days following her come back from death are very uneventful. She gets used to sharing most meals with the king, since he never talks and she can easily pretend that he is not in fact sitting next to her, munching on a piece of fruit or sipping his tea as if there was nothing wrong with it.  
  
Not that there is anything wrong with it. She just finds it a bit strange.  
  
After a week of rest and two days of taking small walks around the room with Lady Narie hovering behind her like a mother hen, she is finally able to return to her own rooms.  
  
She thanks the king in simple words and with a deep curtsey, and goes back to living her previous life in her humble quarters.  
  
Except her life is not the same.  
  
Other elves bow to her now, even those of noble birth, and it is so bizarre, she needs to fight the urge to pinch herself every time it happens. Since she is not yet ready to return to her duties outside the fortress, she takes to overseeing practice of her subordinates and catching up on some reading.  
  
There is also another change to her routine and this one surprises her the most.  
  
Thranduil seeks her out.  
  
And it’s not only for the purpose of discussing strategy or to gain information about the progress the soldiers make during their training. Mostly, there is hardly anything professional about their encounters.  
  
He asks her to dine with him so often she starts to feel lonely when she is forced to eat on her own. He comes to visit her on the practice fields and simply sits next to her for hours on end. He brings her books to read. He approaches her in the middle of the corridors just to inquire about her day. He sends bottles of good wine to be delivered to her room when he cannot meet with her for dinner.  
  
What strikes her most is the way he looks at her when they are together and she catches him red-handed. There is something in his eyes… Something burning and heated, and very unexpected.  
  
But she doesn’t really mind, simply because she returns those looks and starts to enjoy his quiet presence. She feels safe in his company and it’s a very liberating feeling for someone who has spent most of their life almost drowning in anxiety.

-o-o-o-

The first time he touches her in a way that is not purely coincidental, it makes her shiver.  
  
It’s only a small gesture – his warm hand sprayed on the small of her back as he guides through the crowds during the feast on the night of Summer Solstice – but it is enough to let her know that there is definitely more to them than what meets the eye.  
  
For the first time since Kili, she feels genuinely and unabashedly happy.

-o-o-o-

Their intimacy grows slowly, but steadily. Their touches linger and are less platonic than what is widely considered as appropriate. There also are no longer exchanged in privet.

She hears rumours going around about her and the king, and their close relationship. Some people are even bold enough to ask her, if there is something between them, but she has no answer for them.  
  
At the same time she accepts his offered arm and she lets him brush away a stray strand of her hair that has escaped the confines of one of her braids. In turn, he lets her straighten the collar of his robe when it is crooked and humours her when she asks in a moment of weakness to braid his hair. She makes him a wreath with fresh cosmos and he in turn decorates her head with forget-me-nots.

There are subtle caresses that go mostly unnoticed – a brush of hands as they walk side by side or a gentle touch to the shoulder to get the other’s attention.  
  
She discovers his other side, the gentle and caring one that has been there all along, and it thrills her to know that she is the first elleth to get even a glimpse of it in years.

-o-o-o-

One evening they are sitting in the king’s garden completely alone. They have shared an early dinner and decided to spend some time in the solitude of this enchanted place, away from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.  
  
They are sitting amongst the flowers and she is holding her hand up against his, marvelling at the significant difference in their size. His palm is twice as big as hers, his fingers are long and slender where hers are rather short, although still dainty and delicate.  
  
It is in this very moment, as their hands touch and their eyes are locked, that she realizes the seriousness of the situation.  
  
She pulls away abruptly, suddenly frightened by her own boldness, and Thranduil’s faint but honest smile slips from his face.  
  
“What’s the matter?” He asks, reaching for her hand just like she had done a few minutes ago and resuming the feather-like contact between their open palms.  
  
“I don’t know,” she admits truthfully. “You tell me.”  
  
He chuckles at that.  
  
“I admit I have a similar problem.” His voice is serious, although she can still sense a bit of his earlier amusement. “What I do know is that you mystify me, Tauriel, and it is not an unpleasant feeling.”  
  
“We hated each other,” she says and he actually laughs this time. “I mean it, my lord,” she adds. “We have been at odds for decades or even centuries, and yet…”  
  
She doesn’t finish the sentence, because what he does renders her completely speechless. Fingers wrapping gently around her hand, he brings it to his face and places a butterfly kiss on the inside of her wrist. His eyes are closed as he then moves her hand to his cheek, holding it there with his own.  
  
“Feelings tend to change as time goes by,” he murmurs and her breath hitches when he turns his head a fraction and kisses her in the same spot again.  
  
She throws away caution as she takes hold of the lapels of his overcoat and yanks him forward so she can reach his lips with her own. The kiss is hard and needy, and borderline bruising, but he couldn’t care less, it seems, for he responds to her with the same fire. His arms are around her in a blink of an eye, bringing her so close to him, there is no space whatsoever between their bodies. One of his hands moves upwards to the nape of her neck where he curls his fingers into her hair and pulls at it, forcing her head to fall back even more.  
  
He licks at her bottom lip and she opens her mouth, letting him in. Their tongues swirl and dance together in sync, and she is sure that if she continues to kiss him, she will lose the rest of her sanity, because he is utterly intoxicating. He tastes like sweet wine, apples, and something else, but it’s such a potent combination that she thinks she could kiss him for the rest of her life.  
  
And then her senses return to her at once for the first time in months.  
  
She pushes him away and springs to her feet, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.  
  
He had a wife, she thinks with a pang of regret. He had a wife and is bonded to her even now, and so he shall never be mine.  
  
Why it has never occurred to her before, she cannot say, but she feels so stupid now that she remembers that she could die of shame here and now.  
  
She doesn’t stop to look at him – neither at his puzzled expression nor his kiss-swollen lips – as she flees from the garden, angry tears blurring her vision as she runs away from another lost what-if.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m surprised with how easy it is for me to write this story. Three chapters in three days… It has never happened before! Not that I’m complaining or anything.  
> I feel obligated to warn you about the amount of angst in this chapter. I hope you can forgive me for the rollercoaster of feelings you are hopefully about to experience.  
> There will be one more part to this story and then a sequel/epilogue (two-in-one kind of thing) will follow suit as a separate story, although still very much connected with this.  
> I would also like to say that yes, I've made Aragorn older and yes, I have changed the story of how Gollum first arrived to Mirkwood to better serve the plot, but it is a work of fiction, so I figured it wouldn't do a lot of harm. I hope you don't mind.  
> Enjoy and please, leave a comment after you’re done with reading! Our words make me smile and want to write even more ;)

Legolas comes to Mirkwood with the arrival of autumn.  
  
A man, Aragorn, and a creature called Gollum accompany him there. Tauriel is the one to welcome him at the gates with a nervous smile. They shake hands, exchange pleasantries, and it is so painfully obvious to her that her friend is still not over her that she loses her breath for a moment.  
  
This is not going to end well, she thinks grimly as she leads the three of them to the throne room with her heart beating so wildly she is surprised no one can hear it.

-o-o-o-

Of course she is right.  
  
It is the first time she has seen Thranduil in weeks and the mere sight of him makes her want to cry, even though she is quite sure she has no tears left in her anymore.  
  
She has done everything in her power to avoid him, going as far as to send her second-in-command, Meandir, whenever he summons her for a report. She has stopped going to the garden, she is rarely present on the practice fields anymore, and she does not venture outside her quarters unless it's absolutely necessary. He still tries to seek her out, but she has become so good at hiding from him, he seldom succeeds in his pursuit.  
  
People have noticed the change as well, but no one is brave enough to ask her –or, Eru forbid, the king – openly about what has happened. Only Narie and Galion make subtle inquiries about the matter at hand, though they are on the verge of giving up as well, since the only answers they ever get are so vague they can barely be called answers at all.  
  
She feels the king's gaze on her as she stands in the back, trying in vain to fade into the background. It’s hot like fire and so overwhelmingly intense she is certain that he is attempting to devour her with his eyes alone.  
  
Legolas talks while Gollum whines at his feet, but Tauriel highly doubts Thranduil hears even a word of his son's speech and the prince seems quite aware of it as well. She herself is not exactly paying much attention to what is probably quite important information. Gandalf’s name is mentioned a few times, along with others she does not know and doesn’t care to remember. The keening thing that was once something else – a part of race and a member of someone’s family, and perhaps many more things that he is stripped off right now – makes for quite a spectacle, drawing the members of the court out from the shadows when they are hiding, but Thranduil barely spares it a look. It’s obvious he finds the creature disgusting.  
All those present probably share his feelings on the matter, Tauriel included.  
  
Aragorn is glancing at her every now and then, clearly curious why she seems to be the centre of the king’s undivided scrutiny during this meeting, and she is sorely tempted to just excuse herself. She is hardly needed here anyway.  
  
However, before she gets a chance to actually ask for the permission to go, Gollum starts to spasm on the floor as if in pain, screeching horribly and waving his limbs around with so much strength that she can hear his bones breaking as they hit the stone floor over and over again. Nobody seems able to calm the creature down and so he is taken away, carried to the dungeons by a small troop of guards. They are soon followed by a rather reluctant Legolas and his no less unenthusiastic companion, right after they bid the king farewell and ask for an audience at a later hour.  
  
Gollum’s high-pitched loud voice carries through the halls in a form of a morbid echo, making the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand up.  
  
An unpleasant shiver goes down her spine as she recalls the state of that thing – the hollowness of its cheeks, the crazed look in its eyes, its dirtiness, and the half-healed lacerations that seem to cover the better part of its body. She doesn’t pity it, but at the same time she can’t help but wonder who could have inflicted them upon him.  
  
As lost in thought as she is, it takes her a moment to realize that she is alone with the king and his court.  
  
Even though it’s against protocol and highly disrespectful, she simply walks away without offering any parting words to Thranduil, who remains seated on his wooden throne with his eyes still stubbornly boring into her very soul.  
  
The court ladies murmur as she passes by them and the king’s advisors send her bewildered looks, but she couldn’t care less about their opinion at this point even if she tried.

-o-o-o-

She doesn’t see Legolas for a few days afterwards, but it has more to do with the fact that she is now avoiding him, just as much as she is avoiding his father, than the prince’s disinclination to approach her.  
  
Facing him seems impossible after what has transpired between her and the king. There are no words in her which could describe the last months she has spent enjoying the bliss of returned affections, only to finally realize that she has been a fool and an almost-mistress.  
  
How can she even look Legolas in the eye now?  
  
How can she look him in the eye and admit to that kiss she had shared with Thranduil?  
  
How can she look him in the eye and tell him that she is falling in love with his father?  
  
How can she look him in the eye and make him believe that she has never meant for it to happen, but it’s already too late?  
  
How can she look him in the eye and tell him all of it, and not break his heart in the process?  
  
He has been her best friend and her mentor for centuries. They have shared memories, weapons, and meals, amongst other things, and it seems so unfair that she cannot simply love him in the same way he loves her. It would have been so much easier then.  
  
But her life is far from being easy, so she keeps on avoiding both _ellyn_ , hoping for the storm to pass her by.

-o-o-o-

  
  
Gossips travel around the caverns, since most of the court is still on the subject of her supposed relationship with the king, and they reach Legolas’ keen ears, because, as fate would have it, the storm has no inclination whatsoever to pass her by. Instead, it crashes into her and wreaks havoc, bringing with it the bitter taste of regret and self-loathing in abundance.  
  
“My father?!” Legolas seethes, trying to keep his voice down as much as he can in his blinding rage, but failing miserably. “You have tried to bind yourself to my father?!”  
  
Tauriel takes a step back, her pupils blown wide in fear, because she has never seen her friend in such a frenzy before.  
  
“Legolas, please… I haven’t done anything. I can explain,” she says softly, watching him like a doe would watch a dire wolf. The aggression in his voice alone is enough to shallow her breathing and make her palms sweat, but she refuses to back down, because she needs him to understand. In their years apart she has discovered just how much she valued him as her friend and if she is going to lose him over this – lose him over something that will never happen anyway – she will never forgive herself.  
  
“Everyone talks about it!” In three long steps he is so close to her that she can feel his breath on her face as he continues. “Holding hands! Arm in arm! As if you were already his consort, warming his bed at night! He is bonded with my mother and your queen even in death, you nefarious wench! He cannot have you and you cannot have him, and you should know better! To Eru with you, Tauriel! Have you lost your mind?!”  
  
His words hurt her more than she thinks any physical blow ever did or could.  
  
“Do you think I’ve done it on purpose?” She whispers in a voice that trembles and hitches, since she is almost choking on tears. “I cannot order my heart… I can’t make it beat for who I want. If I could, I swear to you, I would… I would have…”  
  
“You would have what?!” He demands as he pushes roughly her against one of the wooden pillars near the entrance to the armory until her back hits the stone. “You would have kindly considered my feelings?! You would have used your mind?! You would have thought before shattering your own reputation along with that of your king who just happens to be my father?! Or would it have been something else?!”  
  
She has no answer to that.  
  
They stare at each other for the longest time, tense and raging with emotions as never before, and then Legolas moves away and slowly shakes his head with his eyes closed, as if he is trying to rid himself of his anger and bitterness. By the time he looks at her again, she becomes keenly aware of the fact that it won’t be that easy.  
  
“I need to go,” he says finally, all traces of his ire lost from his voice, but still loud and clear in his face, as well as his posture. “You sicken me and I no longer wish to be in your presence.”  
  
When he leaves, she remains motionless in the spot by the pillar with her back against the wood. After a moment she tries to move, because she doesn’t want to be here anymore, but her legs fail her and she collapses to the ground. A pained sob escapes past her lips as she lays down and curls her arms around her bent legs, burying her face behind her knees and lets herself cry for yet another loss.  
  
Maybe, she thinks in throngs of misery, it would have been better for everyone if she died that day in the clearing.  
  
Maybe then Legolas wouldn’t hate her.  
  
Maybe then Thranduil wouldn’t have gotten close enough.  
  
Maybe then the court would not call her the king’s harlot behind her back.  
  
Maybe then she would have finally been able to find peace.

-o-o-o-

  
In the morning following her argument with Legolas, she wakes up just like she has fallen asleep – on the cold damp ground and with her face still wet with the remains of her tears.  
  
It doesn’t take her long to stand up and go back to her quarters, but she hardly remembers how she has even managed to get there. It’s like she is in a trace of sorts and it feels like she is floating above the stone floors when she moves along the corridors. She is a lost soul that has come back from what lays beyond – one who doesn’t know what to do with herself anymore, when her life is over.  
  
Not bothering to change into a fresh set of clothes, she collapses onto her bed and hides under the covers, and goes back to sleep.  
  
That is how she starts to spend her time.  
  
Asleep. In her bedchamber. Under the covers. Away from prying eyes and curious ears, and hurtful words.  
  
She refuses to go out. She refuses to eat. She refuses to bath. She refuses to talk. She refuses to do anything.  
  
For the next couple of days she acts and feels like she is completely hollow on the inside; like she is dead and thus without any real purpose anymore. The single thing she still does, and does it excessively, is crying, because it makes her hurt a bit less, if only for a mere second or two.  
  
Lady Narie tries to coax her to at least take a bath and maybe drink some tea, but Tauriel is too exhausted, too sad and too tired of life to care about such mundane things.  
  
She just wants the world to leave her alone, because she can hardly survive any more heartbreak.

-o-o-o-

  
“Tauriel,” someone says and she turns in the direction of the soft tranquil voice, strangely comforted by its lilt and undeniable warmth it holds. “Tauriel, you need to wake up.”  
  
There is something in the speaker’s tone that makes it impossible for her to disobey him. Somehow, she knows she cannot say no to his command and so she blinks a few times, trying to clear her mind of sleep, but it helps little, if at all. She is weak of both body and soul, and there is barely any energy left in her at this point.  
  
There is scarcely any light in her anymore, not nearly enough to keep her alive for long, and she knows that she has probably already begun to fade.  
  
“Elves feel grief differently”, she remembers her mother saying to her a long time ago, when everything was so much simpler. “It is because of our longevity that we can die of a broken heart or a broken soul, since Mandos with his halls of eternal peace seems more welcoming to those of us who suffer then centuries of loneliness without the presence of those we have loved and lost. There is no poetic value to it, my child. It’s just the way of life.”  
  
She has been lonely almost her entire life, ever since she had lost her parents at a young age, but she has never before felt alone. There has been her dear friend Legolas and then her brave Kili, and then her unyielding king to occupy her heart with fondness and love, but it was empty now and the loss of those three loves, all different and yet the same, hurt too much for her to bear.  
  
Gentle hands guide her into a sitting position. A moment later a cup of lukewarm tea is pressed into her own hands and her companion holds them still as she sips the sweet liquid. When the cup is empty, he takes it away, only to give her a bowl full of fruits. She tries to return it, because she doesn’t want it, and she tells him to take it back over and over again in a voice that sounds so pitifully small she can barely recognize it as her own, but he is relentless and doesn’t budge.  
  
In the end, she concedes and manages to stomach a few slices of a pear. He doesn’t try to force her to eat more, for which she is grateful.  
  
After cleaning her sticky fingers with a damp cloth, he assists her in laying back down. She expects him to go when he is done, but instead he lays down beside her, curling his body around her back and embracing her tenderly.  
  
For the next few hours she listens to the rumble of his deep voice as he tells her stories she faintly remembers from her childhood.  
  
His close proximity and the warmth of his body against hers bring her comfort, the likes of which she has hardly experienced before. She doesn’t recognize him, but he is running his fingers through her hair, and he is smoothing the back of his knuckles over her cheeks, and he is kissing her temple, and he never stops talking to her, and she is content. I  
  
n the end, his identity hardly matters.  
  
When she finally falls asleep within the safety of his arms, her face is free of tears for the first time in days and a small smile is dancing at the corners of her lips.

-o-o-o-

“My child, you need to eat,” Lady Narie scolds her softly as she lifts a spoonful of vegetable soup to Tauriel’s lips one more time with a pleading look in her eyes. “Half a bowl can hardly be considered a proper meal.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” she repeats again, already tired and ready to lay down.  
  
It has been Thranduil who has paid her a visit.  
  
It’s three days later and she can’t bring herself to fall back into the depths of despair after such a loving gesture. It simply doesn’t seem right to spit his kindness back in his face when he isn’t really at fault for what has happened to her. It’s a mess of her own doing and she herself needs to sort it out, no matter how painful it is or how unwilling she is to do it. She would have gladly stayed in her chambers for the rest of her immortal life, but she can’t and that knowledge scares her witless, because what lays behind her door terrifies her now.  
  
Unfortunately – or fortunately, since it depends on the point of view – Lady Narie is determined to heal her, just like she had done many times before, and the old _elleth_ isn’t going to give up any time soon.  
  
“It’s not a matter of hunger,” the head healer scoffs at Tauriel, but puts the bowl away. “You need to get better. For your sake and the sake of this kingdom.”  
  
This confuses Tauriel greatly. What does the Woodland Realm have to do with her health or lack of it thereof? She is of no use and a insult to her kin. There is no place for her amongst them.  
  
When she voices those thoughts of hers to Narie, the lady bristles in indignation and for a moment Tauriel is sure that the she-elf is going to smack her upside the head like she used to do a long time ago.  
  
“What to do, she asks…,” the healer murmurs instead, looking up to the ceiling as if she is asking the heavens to give her strength before she goes mad. Then she looks straight into Tauriel’s eyes and says: “It has to do with our king, Tauriel.”  
  
“Oh,” she utters in a slightly wavering tone as tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “The court thinks that he and I… Maybe I should…”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything, but get better,” Lady Narie interrupts her. “After the prince left with the mortal, Aragorn, the king heard about the rumors. He was beyond furious. I have known him for centuries, my child, and I have never in my life seen him in such a state. He called for a gathering and yelled himself hoarse before finally calming down enough to explain.”  
  
“Explain?” Tauriel asks. “Explain what?”  
  
“He told them about the death of the Queen,” was Narie’s response. “The truth has been kept away from the public. There were some who knew what has happened, of course, and I was one of them, but there was only a handful of us and the king wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could.” She reached out and brushed away a stray strand of hair that has slipped from Tauriel’s braid. “I would wager a guess that he never expected to fall in love again.”  
  
“He does not love me.”  
  
“Oh hush, you stupid girl!” Narie does smack her on the arm this time, apparently done with holding back. “No one – no Man, no Elf, and no Dwarf – would have had enough courage to do what he has done if it wasn’t for love.”  
  
Tauriel doesn’t have anything to say to that and so she remains quiet, letting the lady spin the narrative.  
  
She knows that it has been a long time since the Queen’s death, just like every other elf in the kingdom. It’s public knowledge, after all, even if there was never a body to bury or nobody can remember a memorial in her honour. The tale of her passing is so heartbreaking and so horrible though that she cannot imagine how it can be real. As Narie tells her the story about the cursed fire of dragons, Tauriel is overwhelmed with a profound need to see Thranduil. There is little comfort she can offer him after so many centuries after his loss, but she wants to do it anyway.  
  
“Queen Gilrin of Greenwood has fallen in one of the many battles in the North. Her death came from the burning breath of great serpents and so she disappeared as if she has never been alive, since the fire consumed not only her body, but her soul as well,” the healer says in a quiet solemn voice as a grimace dances across her lips. “He won’t see her, neither if he were to die nor if he decided to sail. She is forever lost to him.”  
  
The realization of what it means for her makes her breath hitch.  
  
“Those who have called you foul names were absolutely wrong,” Narie added with a small smile. “Let your heart love him, child. He needs it, just as much as you do.”  
  
She tries to blink away her tears, but it’s no use and soon enough she is crying in a mixture of relief and happiness.  
  
Maybe not all is lost to her yet.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start, I would like to thank you all for joining me on this journey. I didn’t expect for this story to be so well recived! I’m truly beyond myself with happiness and it’s all because of you, and your amazing show of support. You are all awesome and I love you! :)  
> Sadly, the story ends with this chapter, but I hope you will be happy to hear that there will be a sequel to it, called “By Your Side”, and it won’t be a single one-shot, but a collection of them. It will follow the plotline of “Light Starts to Tremble”, featuring bits and pieces of what future holds for Thranduil and Tauriel.  
> I have also started another short chapter fic, “No Turning Back”. It’s mostly Legolas/Sigrid (don’t ask, it just sort of happened) , but there will be quite a lot of Thranduil/Tauriel in it as well. Set during the events of BOTFA, it’s going to be full of action and there will be smut in it somewhere too, so if you’re so inclined, please check it out.  
> Also this chapter CONTAINS SMUT and, while it’s not overly graphic, I think it warrants a rating upgrade, so that’s why it’s now M instead of T. You have been warned ;)  
> Without further ado, enjoy and then let me know what you think!  
> Cheers!

Getting better is a process Tauriel knows all too well, although she isn’t very proficient at it. There are times when she stumbles along the long way to recovery, but in the end there is yet enough determination left in her to push a bit harder. She is persistent and stubborn above everything else, after all. Even though she thought she had lost everything, there is still something – _someone_ –who might just be her last chance and she absolutely refuses to let him walk away if she can have anything to say about it. She is sure there will be far less confidence once she will manage to approach him, but she tries to not dwell on it too much.  
  
Worrying needlessly right before the battle has never done anything good for one’s morale, after all.  
  
As the days go by, too slowly for her liking, her misery starts to dispel and her light returns. The smell of the sea leaves her by the end of the second week of her recovery, taking with it both her thoughts of sailing to the Undying Lands and any inclination to let herself fade.  
  
Lady Narie seems delighted to have her back. The _elleth_ has taken it upon herself to oversee Tauriel’s recovery yet again and she fills the empty space in the air between them with idle chatter, spinning tale after tale of days long gone as well as recounting some mildly interesting gossips that has reached her keen ears. Tauriel is thankful for her dedication. Since she is not nearly as fond of talking, which isn’t really an after-effect of her sickness, but rather a trait of her character, she lets the lady have the lead in their conversations, only speaking when it is absolutely necessary.  
  
Soon enough she is ready to move around, no longer restricted to her bed or the confines of her quarters. She is highly apprehensive of what will await for her outside, but her fears are largely unfounded.  
  
In the company of Galion, she ventures into the world for the first time in over a month. He keeps her steady as they take a stroll through the vast halls with Lady Narie following them around and keeping a watchful eye on Tauriel in case she begins to feel faint. No one disturbs them, even when they pass by a few ladies of the court and one of the king’s counsellors, but it is not because they have forgotten.  
  
It’s the presence of Galion and Narie, faithful to a fault and in favour of the king, that keeps their mouth shut, but they are sending her looks the likes of which can hardly be described as anything other but pitying. If she had any doubts about whether or not her sickness and the reason behind it has become public knowledge at some point, she has no doubts about it now. There will probably be those who will attempt to apologize, but she thinks she will pass on their forced apologies.  
  
There is no place for lies and liars in her life anymore.

-o-o-o-

The night when she decides to visit the King’s garden for the first time in months is warm and brings with it a promise of spring. There are still days left till _Ehtele'mele_ begins, but Tauriel can feel that the seasons have changed and that winter is already behind them, even if they have yet to celebrate its departure.  
  
She doesn’t know what to feel about the upcoming Vernal Equinox. Usually it’s one of the most exciting times of the year. Although winter is seen as the turning point of the year and a symbol of new beginnings, it is this one week of March that represents a time of fertility among the Elves, who spend it engaged in the pursuits of romance and song. It’s a joyous occasion, full of merry making, wine, dancing, and singing, and it consists of nothing but happiness.  
  
At least it should be so, but Tauriel is torn, still unsure of her feelings and what she wants to do.  
  
This is the time of the year when most couples bond in marriage or announce that they are promised, and she is still alone. As much as she wants to believe Narie’s words, she cannot help but doubt them, since the king has not expressed any interest in her recently. She hoped – and still does – that he would approach her and do something, but she is still waiting and the festivities are almost upon them.  
  
She decides to take a seat and it just to happens to be the same spot, the same clearing, where she kissed her king all those moons ago. Although it has changed much between them, she doesn’t regret it.  
  
Deep in thought, she starts to run her fingers through her still damp her. She shivers in her light nightgown, thinking that she ought to have taken something to cover her shoulders with before wandering off. As she things over whether or not she should return to her chambers, for she is starting to grow cold, something shifts and a moment later she is enclosed in the warmth of a thick silver robe she knows all too well.  
  
“My lord,” she greets him without turning around.  
  
“Tauriel,” he says in response. “How do you fare?”  
  
His voice is so soft, she is almost tempted to glance at him, but she stops herself just in time.  
  
“I’m well, thank you for your inquiry. And you?”  
  
“Now I am well,” he murmurs before settling down beside her on the soft grass. He too is wearing his night clothes and his hair is slightly mused from sleep. “ _Oio naa elealla alasse'_ , Tauriel. Your presence makes me forget about my troubles.”  
  
Her eyes widen at his declaration, but she still refuses to look at him fully. As if sensing her dilemma, Thranduil turns to her and takes her hand it his. He brings it to his lips to lay a kiss on the inside of her wrist, just like he had done the last time they have been together.  
  
Her breath hitches as her head moves on its own accord.  
  
When she finally looks at him – really looks at him instead of passing a fleeting glance in his general direction – for the first time in so long, she is once again overwhelmed by him. He is magnificent in his fierce and glorious beauty, and he has never looked more divine than now, when she finally admits to herself just how much she loves him.  
  
“Thranduil…” His name escapes her lips in a barely audible whisper. She has so many thing to say, but she cannot decide where to start.  
  
He does not let her continue or wonder any longer. Whatever she was going to say gets swallowed by his lips which are suddenly slanted against hers. She yelps in surprise and Thranduil is quick to take advanatge of her open mouth. His tongue slips past her lips, swirling slowly against the tip of hers in an invitation. She has half a mind to shove him away, because he can’t simply kiss her into oblivion without explenation just to make her quiet, she won’t stand for it, but then he sucks on her lower lip and all logical thoughts leave her mind.  
  
It is heaven and hell, the way his mouth moves with hers, as if he is trying to devour her. She is hot all over and he is so insanely good at this that she thinks it might truly be a better way to solve their problems. He nibbles at her lower lip, gentler this time, and she lets out a breathy moan into his mouth in the milisecond between one kiss and the other before bringing him closer still, her hands at both sides of his face.  
  
One of his arms curls around her waist to bring her flush against him, while the other gets tangled in the hair at the base of her neck. He pulls at it roughly to change the angle and she obeys him, if only for a moment. Then the kiss slows down to a softer pace. Her own hands move from his face to his neck, carresing his nape with soft feather-like touches. Without thinking, she presses against his chest, forcing him to lay down onto the grass. Without breaking apart, she shifts to better accommodate their movements in this new position. She doesn’t expect to feel his aroausal, hot and hard against her inner thigh, but it is a pleasant surprise. Moving against him to test the waters even further, she is delighted to hear a deep groan escape his mouth as he grates his hips against hers, his head falling back in obvious pleasure.  
  
Enchanted by the pale column of his long neck, she bends down to reach him better and places a tender kiss at his throat before making her way lower, dusting his slightly flushed skin with sweet kisses until she reaches the collar of his tunic, where she stops.  
  
As if sensing her hesitation, Thranduil twists them around in one smooth motion. Now on top of her, he returns her affections with the same ammount of tenderness and perdition, losing himself in the sensation of her. Instead of moving downwards, however, he starts at the base of her throat and works his way up. When he reaches her lips, he kisses her leisurely and with a burning passion hidden somewhere behind the last remains of his wavering selfcontrol.  
  
They are both breathless when they finally pull apart. Thranduil’s forehead is resting on hers as they pant, their breaths mixing together in the almost non-existent space between their lips.  
  
“ _Mela en' coiamin_ ,” he whispers as he looks at her, eyes clouded with lust and bright like starts.  
  
“ _Meleth nin_ ,” is all she can say as tears of happiness threaten to overwhelm her in this moment that previously belonged to her dreams and now happens to be her delightful reality.  
  
She draws her king down for another kiss, thinking briefly before her world disappears in the swirl of fabrics and tender caresses that she has never been more at peace than she is now.

-o-o-o-

  
Morning welcomes Tauriel with overwhelming warmth and a sense of serenity she has been lacking for the longest time. The source of her newfound peacefullness is known to her even before she opens her eyes, but it still brings a somewhat amazed look to her gaze when her eyes fall onto the sleeping face of Thranduil.  
  
Their activities left his hair in quite a disarray and his neck is dotted with love bites she left behind in her eagerness, and yet he is still regal and elegant, even in deep slumber and far from the image of a cold king she has looked upon for the centuries past. She rests her head on the palm of her hand as her fingers trace lazy patterns over his smooth skin, which is not pure ivory as she thought it would be. There is a faint dusting of freckles covering his board shoulders, as well as the sides of his neck, which she finds to be quite charming. After bending down just a little, she places a few soft kisses along his collarbones and then moves to the column of his throat, growing bolder with every press of her lips against his flesh. She sucks gently at his pulsepoint for just a moment, smiling to herself when she is revarded by a breathy gasp.  
  
One of his arms starts to move up and down her bare back, his fingertips cool against her hot skin, while the other still lays across his abdomen. Encouraged by his gentle ministrations, she moves her lips further up until they reach his jaw. She presses small delicate kisses along its line before she catches his mouth in a slow languid caress, pulling him out of the land of dreams.  
  
“ _Iston i nîf gîn_ ,” he says as he looks at her through his long lashes, his voice a husky rumble and still hazy with the remains of sleep.  
  
“ _I would have a cause for worry otherwise, my king_ ,” she responds in Sindarin as well, pressing another kiss to his lips with a smile as her fingers dance along his jaw and then go to play with the lose strands of his golden hair.  
  
Thranduil laughs at her jest , finding some amusement in the boldness of her words. She only smiles in response, though her heart sings with laughter as well.  
  
“ _My king_ ,” he repeats after her with a wicked smile. “I like the sound of that.”  
  
He brings her closer and seals their lips in a kiss that is unlike the previous ones she has bestowned upon him, for there is more passion in it than she thinks she can handle. His tongue is demanding as it swirls around hers, making her melt into his side. He changes their position without breaking the kiss. He takes a hold of her thigh and drags his fingers over it, up and down in a motion that drives her crazy, before placing his hand on the underside of her knee and pushing it until it almost touches her torso. Her other leg bends slightly as she moves her foot along his shin, encouraging him to do what they both know is inebitable at this point.  
  
He pushes himself into her heat just then and she moans loudly when he hits her at just the right angle with the first thrust of his hips, making her back arch in pleasure. They make love as if the world is about to end and they are the last ones standing, but still doomed to die. She cannot think straight as they move together, driving each other to the brink of madness with each movement. At some point they switch the pose so that she is stradling him as he sits. He gives her a taste of control and seems delighted to follow her lead as she rides him with her head thrown back.  
  
They come undone together. He whispers her name into the hollow of her shoulder like a prayer, over and over again, while she gasps his into the heavens.  
  
Afterwards they dress into their night clothes in silence, glancing at each other every few seconds. When they are more or less presentable once again, they make their way to the entrance of the garden and then continue on their way to the king’s quarters. They hide in alcoves every now ad then to avoid being seen by various sevants and some members of the court that are already up and about. For some reason it makes the journey less stressful than Tauriel has expected.  
  
Thranduil is ginning at her and stealing kisses from her silently laughing lips every time they need to hide, mirth dancing in his brigth eyes. He appears younger in his joy and more carefree than she has ever seen him, and the fact that it’s her doing makes her feel proud and very accomplished.  
  
When they finally arrive to his chambers, they waste little time on talking as he dismisses Galion from his post with a wave of his hand – the _ellon_ almost trips over his own feet on his way out, but is still somewhat amused by the entire situation – and then takes her to his bed, where he once again claims her as his.

-o-o-o-

Her fingers move over the smooth stone walls of her old bedchamber as she walks around it for the last time. The room is bare of her things, as they have already been transferred and are all enjoying a new place in the quarters she will now share with her husband, but she can still remember where they stood and how they looked there.  
  
She smiles when she thinks about how much has changed in the last few weeks.  
  
Thranduil insisted on anncouncing their engagement during the Vernal Equinox. She didn’t believe it was such a good idea, but she trusted him enough to reluctantly agree. The effect this information had on people was astounding – after a brief moment of stunned silence they started to cheer so loudly the caverns shook with the volume of their voices. She has never felt more welcomed and loved than she did back then.  
  
Their wedding wasn’t a grand affair, but it was theirs and sacred all the same. She has mourned Legolas’ absence during the ceremony for a while, just like Thranduil did, but they could understand the reason behind the _ellon_ ’s decision to send his best wishes via a messenger instead of doing so in person. The pain of rejection was still too fresh in the prince’s heart and it would be this way for the years to come. They would reconcile eventually, she was sure of that, but he needed time to come to terms with his feelings and required a chance to get over her.  
  
A noise from behind startles her a little and she turns to see her lady-in-waiting, Maerel, as she lingers in the doorway with an uneasy smile. The girl has been her chamber maid before and is still very young, maybe a bit too young for her new role in the court, but her company brings Tauriel a sense of comfort. Tauriel trusts her and it’s enough to give the girl a chance, even if it’s not the usual way of things.  
  
Then again Tauriel is a rather unusual queen.  
  
“Are you alright, _hiril vuin_?” She asks with concern.  
  
“Yes, Maerel. I’m more than alright,” Tauriel responds with a laugh as she spares one last glance at her old chambers. She knows that she is going to miss this place, if only a little, but her heart and soul are bound to Thranduil’s and she wants to be at his side. In the end, a set of rooms is not really important, even if it holds an immeasurable amount of fond memories within its walls, corners, and nooks.  
  
“Let’s go,” she says as she gestures for Maerel to follow her lead. “We cannot keep the king waiting for too long.”  
  
They move through the corridors without much of a haste, because, while she needs to attend to her duties, she is not anymore required to run around and rush to complete her tasks. People bow their heads when they see her and she lightly inclines her own head, crowned with an opulent circlet of mithril and precious stones, in a polite greeting, a soft smile dancing at her lips as she makes her way through what is now partially her kingdom.  
  
It is strange, this new power she holds and the weight of the crown upon her head, but she accepts it with grace. She could have never thought it possible and yet here she is – a wife, a queen, and maybe soon a mother as well.  
  
She walks into the throne room with Maerel at her side and watches Thranduil as he descends down the narrow steps of the dais to greet her, his face open and his gaze warm. He takes one of her hands in his, brings it to his lips, and lays a butterfly kiss at the inside of her wrist.  
  
The times are dark and growing darker still, and their future is uncertain, but she is happy and maybe that’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ehtele'mele – Vernal Equinox  
> Oio naa elealla alasse'- Ever is thy sight a joy  
> Mela en' coiamin – love of my life  
> Meleth nin – my love  
> Iston i nîf gîn – I know your face  
> hiril vuin – my lady


End file.
